


A Highly Normal And Relatable Fantasy About Crowley, But With Disco This Time

by AZFell (AnnetheCatDetective)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 70s Crowley, M/M, certainly no wingkink or shapeshifting, everything is normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AZFell
Summary: By popular demand. Well, by demand, at any rate, but I'm sure you'll agree that like all Crowley fantasies, it's widely shared.





	A Highly Normal And Relatable Fantasy About Crowley, But With Disco This Time

You don’t normally do this sort of thing, but you’ve been invited by casual friends to the local discotheque, and they’ve been after you to go for weeks, and so tonight you’ve given in and agreed. You’ve dressed for the occasion, though not to stand out. You expect you’ll spend the evening holding the wall up, so to speak, not being one for dancing.

 

Your friends are happy just to have gotten you in the building, honestly, so they let you try to enjoy the music from the very back. It’s all very loud and very fast, but everyone on the dance floor seems to like it, and anyway, there are more offensive things in the world than enthusiastically-blared ABBA. It just all feels a bit of a bore– a bit of a headache.

 

But then, you hadn’t expected Crowley to be there as well. He looks good, but then, he always does– fashionable. His trousers, despite being quite close-fitting at the thigh, have just enough flare to get into this sort of place, his shirt collar is spread wide in a trendy sort of way… and his shirt is open, just enough to show off a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. And the mustache! So virile…

 

When he spots you, he heads towards your little spot along the wall, all confident swagger as he snakes between those boogie-ing the night away on the dance floor. He walks with his hips and the rest of him just follows. When he reaches you, he nudges his dark glasses down his nosebridge. golden eyes raking over you. You suddenly find yourself quite aware of the extra height the heels of his shoes give him, height he hardly needs.

 

“Care for a dance?” He asks, glasses back in place now– back before anyone but you might have the chance of seeing his naked eyes. Seeing his true nature. That… that is a select privilege, conferred upon you ~~only because of your long asso~~ and few others over the millennia.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t…” You protest, though you let him take your hand in his. You haven’t danced since 19 ~~03~~ 67 and it wasn’t at all like this. He guides one of your hands to his hip, takes the other up. Tugs you close…

 

“Then isn’t it time you gave it a go?” He grins.

 

“Is this suede?” You ask, nervously trying to make conversation, and rather fixated on the soft fabric of his trousers. He’d placed your hand at his hip so casually, and yet it consumes you.

 

“ ~~An~~ Baby, it’s ultrasuede.” He says. Not that ‘ultrasuede’ means anything to you, but he sounds very confident in saying it, and also his other hand is on your hip, and that all makes it very difficult to think about these things.

 

You’re not much for dancing, but being in his arms… you could be one for that. Anyway… he’s not really much of a dancer himself. Demons aren’t much better than angels, in that regard, one supposes. Still, you’ve never known an ~~other~~ angel to have Crowley’s raw sexual magnetism… something about him draws you in, something about him goes to your head like sparkling wine.

 

His cologne is unexpected, a light floral entwined with seductive vanilla, a contrast to the ultra-masculine appearance… and it’s undercut by the barest hint of skin musk.

 

“I’m afraid this really isn’t my ‘scene’…” You apologize, but it comes out rather weak. He releases you, but doesn’t move far, doesn’t stop his own gyrations, holding your focus with every enticing wriggle, every motion of arm, every shimmy of hip… and the way he flicks his tongue out towards you, the hint of something inhuman…

 

“Are you asking me if I want to get out of here?” He winks ~~no how would you know that?~~ grins, reaching out and cupping your chin in his hand.

 

“My ~~shop~~ flat is just around the corner…” You say, emboldened. By his flirtations, by his cologne, or just by your own wicked desires…

 

“Someone should walk you home, dark night like this.” He leans in close. “You never know what’s out there…”

 

“Yes, it would be terrible if I were to be beset upon on my walk home, by some… wicked demon with designs upon my virtue.” You smile.

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t let that happen.” And he looms ever closer, so close you can see those serpentine eyes behind his dark lenses. “I’m the only demon who’ll be menacing your virtue tonight.”

 

The shiver you feel at the very thought of him… at the very thought of surrender!

 

“Take me home?” You say, and he offers you his arm.

 

You’re so aware of him, on your walk home. The closeness of his body and the way that he moves, like having a great predator loping along at your side, radiating power, and there beside him, you’re safe. Protected.

 

He follows you up to your flat, and no sooner do you have the door locked than he’s upon you, has you pressed up against it to be kissed, forked tongue teasing at your lips, sliding into your mouth… The most wondrous haze seems to descend upon you both, making the world beyond you both unreal. There is only Crowley, his hands on you, his mouth on you, his body pressed so close to yours.

 

“You wanted my virtue?”

 

“Oh, yes…” He hisses, fisting a hand in your hair and baring your throat to his kisses. To the tickling darting touch of his tongue, and the barest graze of viperine fangs, and the rough rub of his mustache against tender skin. “I want to relieve you of it.”

 

“That could take some time.” You warn him. “I’m as much virtue as you are vice.”

 

“And how much vice do you think I’m made of?” He asks, his breath hot against your neck. He pushes his thigh between yours, sliding up to nudge against ~~the spot where you would manif~~ your sex. Being as it’s always in the same place and always the same shape, and you never don’t have it, because that would be very odd, and you are just a person.

 

“I think you’re a beast.” You moan, and he grins against you, and nips at you just a little.

 

“And I’m about to act like one.” He promises. He moves you from the door to the sofa, and bends you over the back of it, strong and sudden enough to make you swoon. He takes your trousers down, and ~~you~~ he simply miracles your shirt away, along with his own clothes.

 

You feel so eager for him, enough to make you weak in the knees, and his grip on your hips is firm, holding you right where he wants you as he trails wet kisses up your spine. You can feel the friction of his mustache, and the softness of his lips, and the wicked, clever working of his tongue as he works his way higher. His firm prick slides between your thighs, teasingly near and not near enough to where you would most like it buried, he thrusts between them as his kisses now travel from the center line of your spine across your upper back. And his hands slide up from your hips, to travel up your back as well, like the first slow stroke of a sensual massage.

 

“Oh… oh, you know what you do to me…” You rock against him, need igniting pathways along your skin, bringing you to life in new and thrilling ways.

 

“I have my suspicions.” He admits, and his tongue traces strange sigils across one shoulderblade. You can feel the building pressure and need for release ~~there~~ , can feel him calling forth the deepest and most intimate parts of you, as he kisses and teases ~~around the joint~~ , as your skin tingles the way it would before a powerful storm.

 

Almost before you know what’s happened, he’s dug his thumbs in just there and kissed you just so, and you couldn’t stop ~~your wings unfurling if you trie~~ from rocking your hips down against him in search of further sexual stimulation. The normal way that that happens.

 

He sinks his teeth into your ~~wi~~ shoulder, and probes delicately between your legs with slicked fingers, opening you to him like a delicate flower, before sliding home, sheathing himself inside you to the hilt. Oh, and you never felt so complete… You couldn’t have designed your body to receive him more perfectly.

 

Not that you could design your body to do anything of the sort, of course. That’s not how bodies work and we all understand that fact of nature. I only mean that’s how magical it feels, not that you might have attempted to do something like that. That would be silly.

 

~~Of course I suppose he could have made himself to fit you, but not on the first go, he’d have to have a feel for depth and… elasticity? Or… something of that nature, I mean, he’d have to have a baseline, he’d have to know what you felt like in order to literally transform his prick to suit you. Anyway.~~

 

He fills you and you know what life is for. You were put on this earth to love and be loved by him– and if love is a virtue, then your virtue be an endless well he might draw from, but he can never relieve you of it.

 

He can, however, move inside you, in firm and powerful thrusts. Virtue you may have an unending supply of, but rational thought is something you are rapidly losing hold of as he gives it to you but good. He urges you along in your pleasure, hissing encouragements in your ear as you moan his name, helpless beneath him, ~~once a being of duty and now a being of electric pleasure, once filled with love for all things and now filled only with his love~~.

 

His hands close around ~~the patagium of each w~~ your hips as he drives himself into you, as he spends himself deep within your body, in the wake of your own overwhelming pleasure. He kisses a line back down your spine as he withdraws from you, as you shiver and whine at the loss of him. You slump against the back of your sofa, and you think if this is what going out to the discotheque gets you, you might go more often.


End file.
